


Debt

by elfin



Series: Absolution [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 15:54:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elfin/pseuds/elfin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Hannibal still needs to face the music with Bedelia. He hasn’t seen her since he provided the evidence that exonerated Will and he knows he’ll have to eventually. The moment she lays eyes on him she’ll know something important, something huge, has changed.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Debt

‘Is there anything I can do for you, Will?’ 

They’re lying naked in Hannibal’s bed on a lazy Sunday morning. Before Will he would have been up, preparing something or writing case notes. Never in his wildest imagination did he ever think he would appreciate just lying in bed, touching, kissing. Letting arousal build slowly, sometimes doing something about it, sometimes not, Leaving it to linger throughout the day until the tension pulls taut and finally breaks hard against the butcher’s block, over the dining room table or on the refined leather sofa in the lounge. 

This is all new to him. He’s had relationships before, long flings he’s thought of as affairs, but nothing like this. Something is changing inside him, not the fundamental thing that he is but still something important. This feels long term and Hannibal does not do long term, he has far too much to hide. Except that he hasn’t, not this time. Nothing is hidden. He’s laid bare in front of his perfect, beautiful man who has his own deeply complex reasons for being here that have absolutely nothing to do with survival. 

He remembers Sutcliffe asking him what makes Will such a rarity. The real answer is far more complicated than the one he gave that evening.

‘I don’t know,’ Will replies, smile wide as he runs exploring fingers over Hannibal’s arm. ‘Is there?’ 

He drops a kiss to Will’s chest. ‘Has anyone upset you this week? You weren’t too happy when you arrived on Thursday night.’

He thinks he might be treading a fine line here between fun and decency but Will laughs. ‘You’re not killing the Head of Human Resources for me.’

‘Umm. Human Resources. That sounds like something I should be taking an interest in.’

‘Not that kind of resource. Macy is just doing her job, following protocol. They owe me compensation pay for when Jack had me wrongly arrested and incarcerated. Thanks to you. It’s taking time to come through.’ 

Will’s ability to maybe not forgive but definitely to let go of blame is frankly astounding. But Hannibal lets his smile slip. ‘Do you need money?’

‘No. No. It’s fine. The house is mine outright and my wage covers the bills and the dogs... besides, I’m here four nights out of every seven.’

‘I hope you’re taking care of yourself on the nights you’re not here.’

Will’s smile is indulgent. ‘I’ve been taking care of myself for many years.’

‘That, my dear, is debatable.’ But he lets it go for now. He still can’t find the words to tell Will he loves him, but the invitation to move in has been on his lips for weeks. He would have already asked if it wasn’t for the dogs, and for the niggling suspicion that Will needs his own space for the sake of his sanity. He just hates that it’s an hour away by car. If anything should happen.... But then Will’s the one with the gun and the myriad guard dogs. Statistically he should be safer there than he is here in the nest of a serial killer. It’s just that being at home with a serial killer doesn’t seem to bother Will in the least.

That’s what makes him a rarity. 

Hannibal still needs to face the music with Bedelia. He hasn’t seen her since he provided the evidence that exonerated Will and he knows he’ll have to eventually. The moment she lays eyes on him she’ll know something important, something huge, has changed. She’ll berate him for starting an intimate relationship with one of his patients and the fact that Will actually initiated it and that he isn’t really Hannibal’s patient won’t matter. He really doesn’t care.

Jack Crawford still doesn’t know, although Hannibal thinks he probably has his suspicions. When he finds out he won’t understand and Hannibal’s certain that if he’s ever unmasked, Jack will put he and Will down to some flavour of Stockholm Syndrome. He’ll be wrong. At least, he’ll have it the wrong way around. Will isn’t the prisoner, Hannibal is. Will has it in his power to curtail Hannibal’s freedom any time he chooses, to walk out of the door one morning and send an army of armed FBI agents back in his place. Hannibal trusts that he won’t, but he has very little choice now that the option of hurting Will is no longer a conceivable one.

As for their relationship, it’s apparent that Will hasn’t told anyone. For a while Hannibal was of the opinion that he had no real feelings about the matter either way; if Will was overcome by the urge to shout it from the rooftops at Langley or if he never mentioned it to a living soul he’d be fine with it. But he’s come to the conclusion that actually he wants people to know and he thinks it’s probably time to extend a dinner invitation to Jack. He used to be a regular visitor to Hannibal’s table before he mistakenly unmasked Will as the Chesapeake Ripper. To be fair, he was playing against an unseen opponent so much more intelligent than himself but still Hannibal harbours a certain resentment that he turned on the best horse in his stable so easily.

The urge to host another dinner party comes from nowhere one morning while making simple pancakes. The idea of bringing together Jack Crawford, his beautiful, tragic wife, Alana Bloom and whoever she would bring, of showing them exactly what he’s taken out right from under their noses, is too delicious to ignore. 

He mentions the idea to Will over a late brandy after what has apparently been a bad day. Jack had driven him out to the scene of a multiple murder in Washington and forced him to look through the eyes of a multiple murderer of three adults as well as two children and two dogs. He turns up on Hannibal’s doorstep at gone midnight more distressed than Hannibal’s seen him since his release and immediately his fingers are itching to get around Jack Crawford’s throat and to squeeze until his eyes roll back and he’ll never take another breath. 

Hannibal sits on the sofa with Will tucked into him, arms around his lover, head rested on the dark crown, sipping Scotch from a heavy tumbler that would suffice if he were to bring it down hard enough on the back of Jack Crawford’s skull. But Will calms quickly and settles back into his skin more easily than he was able to when he was ill.

Eventually Hannibal is able to mention the dinner party and Will approves, turns his head to smile up at him. It’s the first smile of the night and Hannibal feels inordinately proud of himself for putting it there. 

‘Do you want to talk about the scene?’ he asks gently, and Will sighs softly. He’s sad to wipe the smile off his face but he needs to get it out in the open otherwise he’ll carry it around like a cancer. ‘I can help to share the burden.’

So Will describes what he saw in the house and doesn’t mention it when Hannibal gets hard. He knows Hannibal didn’t ask for his own pleasure and somehow he understands and doesn’t take offence. Hannibal can’t imagine that there’s another human being on earth who could be here like this, talking to him like this, feeling his erection and not being remotely bothered by it. 

‘You should take care with this one, Will. If he strikes again, if he becomes a serial offender, he’ll just get better at it and more turned on by it. Then he’ll go on until you stop him. I wish you would step away.’

Will leans his head against Hannibal’s shoulder and sighs. ‘I know you do. But I can’t.’

‘If Jack Crawford didn’t show you these crimes you would never know.’

‘They would still be there.’

‘And you would be blissfully unaware of them.’

‘So why do you want to invite he and Alana to dinner?’ And there it is, the light tease of Will’s tone that tells Hannibal he already knows the answer and is simply waiting to have it confirmed. 

‘Because I want to parade us under his nose,’ Hannibal admits in a blatant display of possession. ‘I want him to know you’re with me and you aren’t ashamed of being with me.’

Will twists to look at him with disbelief. ‘Me ashamed of being with you? Look at you. People would wonder what someone as... refined as you is doing with a scruffy loser like me.’

Hannibal won’t have him talking and thinking like that. He manhandles Will until he’s straddling his lap, knees bent on the luxurious sofa cushions, held in place by Hannibal’s proprietary touch at his hip. He puts his glass down on the table to his left and runs his hands over Will’s thighs. 

‘I wish I could adequately express what having you here means to me.’ 

Will smiles at him, leans in to kiss him and stays with his forehead against Hannibal’s. 

‘You want to show me off?’ he murmurs, and there’s a pleasure in his voice that brings Hannibal’s erection to the fore again. Will shifts forward, pressing his own against it.

‘Yes.’

If he thought he was too old to be rutting shamelessly on the sofa, he was very much mistaken.

 

Three nights later, there’s another late night knock at his door, this time from Jack Crawford who’s clearly agitated and barely inside when he blurts out, ‘I’m sorry to disturb you so late, Dr Lecter, but I’m worried about Will.’ Hannibal says nothing. ‘There’s been another multiple murder like the one in Washington. I’ve tried calling him, I’ve even been out to Wolf Trap but there’s no sign....’

Hannibal silences Jack’s burst of concern, whether it’s for Will or for himself, by opening the lounge door. Will’s sitting on the sofa with his feet up on the coffee table watching a documentary about penguins on Hannibal’s new 47 inch slim HD television. He bought the set for Will, not because Will watches much television when he’s at home but precisely because he doesn’t. He only ever watches the Discovery Channel on it but he loves animals and these wildlife programmes seem to have a particularly calming effect on him.

The sight of Will on his sofa isn’t in itself incriminating. That he’s obviously at home here, somewhere he’s certain not only of his welcome but his belonging, probably is. He’s fully clothed with the exception of his bare feet and Hannibal frowns at him for having them up on the table, a scowl Will chooses deliberately to ignore. 

‘Evening, Jack,’ he says and it takes a few moments for Jack to compose himself.

‘There’s a second crime scene in Frederick. It’s practically a mirror image of the Washington scene. I need you to come out and take a look.’

Hannibal bites his tongue, recalling the state Will was in when he returned from the last scene. But as much as he wants to forbid Will from going he can’t and he won’t. Instead he takes a deep breath when Will switches off the television and gets to his feet, asking for a few minutes to get his shoes and coat.

‘Would you like me to accompany you?’ Hannibal asks when he’s out in the hall.

‘If you’re sure? It’s already late....’

‘I’m sure, Will. Your wellbeing is my concern, after all. If I’m with you I can start putting the pieces back together sooner than needing to wait for you to return to Baltimore.’ It’s an unsubtle dig aimed at Jack and he sees that it hits home but Jack doesn’t back down. 

‘I’ll wait in the car,’ Jack tells them, but Hannibal counters with,

‘I’ll drive Will. We’ll follow behind you.’

‘It’s pointless taking two cars.’

‘Will may want or need to leave before you. This way I’ll be able to get him away as soon as he’s finished. You may be needed to stay on, to co-ordinate with the local police.’

It’s a perfectly sensible suggestion but he sees Will with a smile on his face as he comes down from upstairs wearing socks and a thicker jumper.

 

‘Does being free of the encephalitis make it easier to look?’ he asks when they’re in the car and on their way, following Jack’s taillights.

‘It makes recovery easier,’ Will clarifies. ‘It means I don’t come to with my hands covered in blood straddling a murder victim or go from a crime scene in Virginia to the waiting room outside your office without knowing how I did it.’ He shakes his head. ‘I don’t understand how something like that didn’t show up on the MRI that Dr Sutcliffe....’ It was only ever a question of time. ‘Oh my God. It did, didn’t it? You falsified the results. That’s why you killed him.’

‘Eventually he would have turned his hand to blackmail.’ He does regret leaving Will to suffer. He wasn’t certain about it at the time, killed Sutcliffe partly out of anger that he agreed to the lie so readily. Now it’s something he is sorry about even though at the time it suited his purposes. ‘I’m sorry.’ It’s a constant surprise to him that Will’s still here.

‘Is there anything else you did? Anything else I should know about in the spirit of full disclosure?’

‘Nothing with you in mind.’

He smiles wanly. ‘If this is how you treat your friends, Hannibal, your enemies are seriously fucked.’

‘I am sorry.’ His words are genuine.

‘If they hadn’t arrested me, would you have let it kill me?’

‘No. I never wished for your death, Will.’

‘Some of the people you killed suffered less at your hands than I did,’ he points out, and there’s what should possibly be a worrying lack of accusation in his tone.

‘Then why are you still here?’ Hannibal asks, too curious not to.

‘You know why. God help me.’ There’s no resentment or anger behind his words and Hannibal’s sane enough to know that isn’t normal. Someone else – anyone else – in Will’s position would be running for the hills by now if not the police.

‘Sutcliffe asked me why I was so fascinated by you, what made you rare. I told him, you have a beautiful mind.’

‘And you don’t get to eat it,’ Will responded with just a touch of sarcasm. Even for them, it’s an odd conversation. He feels slightly uncomfortable but Will still seems at ease, sitting staring out of the passenger window, no tension in his shoulders. ‘I suppose I should be grateful you were able to tell the doctors at the hospital what was wrong with me after I collapsed outside Alana’s house.’

‘I insisted they did an MRI, I gave them my hypothesis, which of course was actually a confirmed diagnosis.... I am truly sorry.’ He means it in a way he maybe hasn’t meant his other apologies. He isn’t sorry for bringing Will to this place, to his side, however indirect a route it took them to get here, but he is sorry to have left him at the mercy of his illness until he fell so desperately ill he dropped into a coma, alone and terrified. He regrets more about that night than he ever thought he would.

Maybe the depth of his sincerity was clear in his words, or maybe it’s just because of who Will is and what he sees where others don’t, but Will turns to look at him with a curious expression on his kind features.

‘You really are sorry.’

‘Yes.’

‘You regret killing Abigail but you’re not sorry for it. But this... this you really mean.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

He has to consider that. He owes Will nothing but the truth. ‘Because to see you mentally suffering is part of what draws me to you. You’re beautiful when you’re looking at a crime scene and just afterwards. I’m attracted to that fear, I can smell it on you and it’s the most arousing scent. But to know you’re suffering due to a physical ailment, that hurts me.’

Will brings his hands to his face and groans quietly as he rubs his cheeks, pressing his fingers into his eyes. ‘I’ve always thought that a conventional relationship is probably beyond me but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I would end up with a man who’s turned on by me at my very weakest.’

‘You’re wrong, Will. When you use this curse, as you call it, you’re at your strongest. You’re the person you’re meant to be, tapping into a part of you that makes you unique. That’s why it turns me on. If you can learn how to master it, how to control it, it would no longer scare you the way it does, it would empower you.’

Will looks at him for a long time but he doesn’t say anything more. In under an hour they’re pulling into a short, wide driveway behind Jack’s car, in amongst a half-dozen emergence vehicles. They get out and Will gives no outward sign of the conversation they’ve had on the way here. Hannibal hangs back, giving Will a nod as he follows Jack into the quiet suburban house. Ten minutes later, everyone alive inside files out, Jack last, and he closes the door. Now Hannibal can imagine Will standing over the freshly dead corpses, seeing not just the carnage in front of him but the calm before the storm, stepping into the killer’s mind to follow each action from the moment he entered the house to the moment he left. This is where Will’s at both his strongest and his most vulnerable. This is where he can identify a murder by losing himself in another identity. Each time he does it, he replaces a little of himself with a psychopath. If he isn’t reminded of who he is, Will Graham will eventually be lost entirely. This is why Hannibal is here. This is what Hannibal can do by way of making up for everything he’s put the poor man through. He can save him.

 

The blue front door opens twenty or so minutes later and Will steps out, clearly distressed but together enough to speak to Jack before he walks up to Hannibal and says, ‘Please can we go home now?’

‘Of course, Will.’ He opens the passenger door of the Chrysler, waits for Will to climb in, and tells him he’ll be with him in just a minute.

‘Hannibal?’ He turns back. Will looks wrung out but there’s a wan smile on his face. ‘Remember, you’re inviting Jack to dinner as a guest.’

He can’t help his chuckle as he closes the door. He hesitates, watches as Will sits back in the seat and closes his eyes, hopefully reassured now he’s back in Hannibal’s car. Then Hannibal goes to find Jack and is granted a moment of his time. 

‘Whatever it is that you’re doing, Dr Lecter, I sincerely hope you have Will’s best interests at heart.’

‘Always,’ he replies smoothly. ‘I wanted to ask you and your beautiful wife to dinner tomorrow night, work permitting.’

Jack’s hostility eases somewhat and he nods. ‘Bella’s out of town this week, but I would like that.’

‘A shame about Bella but I’m glad you’ll come. If you’d be so kind as to extend the invitation to Dr Bloom, should you see her?’

‘Of course.’

‘Thank you. I shall get Will home safely.’

‘His home or yours?’

Hannibal smiles. ‘That’s entirely up to him. Goodnight, Jack.’

 

Just over an hour later, Will’s standing under Hannibal’s powerful walk-in shower, eyes closed, face turned up to the flow. On the trip back he didn’t resume their previous conversation. When Hannibal asked, he described the crime scene as he saw it, laid out the killer’s path and motive as he saw it, which was inevitably as the killer had seen it. Hannibal listened and drove, making the offer of a shower as soon as they walked through the front door. Washing the scene from him seems like a way to start separating himself from what he’s purposely lost his mind in. 

Hannibal is lying on the bed, still fully clothed but propped up against the headboard, reading. He’s left a Scotch on the table next to Will’s side of the bed and is enjoying his own. He watches him over his book as he towel-dries his hair, takes the other towel from around his waist and pulls on a clean pair of shorts, taking both towels back to the en-suite. Hannibal would be happy to bet he isn’t this fastidious in his own home but he appreciates the effort. 

When Will returns to the room, he picks up his Scotch and indicates the bed, asking permission. It brings a smile to Hannibal’s face and he makes a flourish with his hand so that Will lies down on his side, head on his hand while he finishes his Scotch in silence. When Hannibal next looks up from his book, Will’s glass is empty and nestling in loose fingers. Will’s head is on the pillows, his eyes are closed and his breathing has evened out. He’s sound asleep.

He takes the time to marvel that this man who six months ago was getting no more than an hour’s sleep in any given night, safe at home in his own bed surrounded by dogs, who was found sleep walking miles from home by the local cops on several occasions, sleeps like the dead in the bed of a murderer and a cannibal. Nothing like a monster to keep the other monsters away, he supposes. Nothing more to fear when the worst thing he can imagine is in bed with him. Not that he’ll ever hurt Will again. Even when he reaches over to brush aside a lock of dark hair that’s fallen over Will’s closed eyes, he’s gentle and careful. He kisses the warm forehead and settles down himself, turning off the light and listening to Will’s breathing until a dreamless sleep takes him to dawn.

 

‘Do you think about eating me?’ Will asks over breakfast. There’s that quality to his voice, the one Hannibal can’t read, so he answers truthfully.

‘Sometimes.’

‘Just... nibbling on my fingers or cutting out my heart?’

This is one of those conversations he isn’t prepared for. Because Will’s voice has cleared and he’s obviously curious. There’s a hint of fear, which Hannibal appreciates, but the overriding tone is interest.

‘I admit I fantasise about eating your organs, Will, what recipes I would use, how I would prepare the meat. But like so many fantasies, it is not something I wish to actually do. You are far, far more interesting to me alive and in one piece. I will make do with sucking on various parts of your anatomy, tasting your sweat, your semen and now and again I’m sure your tears, although I can promise I won’t ever be the cause of them.’

It’s as close to a declaration of love as he knows how to make and the way Will’s looking at him that’s exactly the way he heard it. 

He smiles, a clear, bright smile free from complications. It says ‘I love you too’ so that Will doesn’t have to. 

‘You know, I don’t really use all my fingers....’

Hannibal laughs, a real laugh that surprises him, takes him by surprise and escapes his throat as something close to a bark of pleasure.

‘I don’t need you to make a sacrifice for me, Will. I like you whole. I like your fingers just where they are.’

Will changes the subject, and Hannibal gets the feeling that the conversation has been parked for a time rather than ended. 

‘What do you intend to cook for tonight’s soirée?’

‘Do you really want to know?’

He watches Will close his eyes for a moment. ‘Chiltern.’

‘I do so hate watching people go to waste.’

‘Is it too late to turn vegetarian?’

‘I would be disappointed, Will, but it wouldn’t change....’

He waves a hand through the air. ‘I’m kidding. Your cooking... I wouldn’t deny myself.’ Hannibal feels inordinately pleased. And relieved. ‘Jack doesn’t like the idea of us. He’s not going to like you parading it under his nose.’

‘Why is it, do you think, that Jack doesn’t like the idea of us?’

Will shrugs. ‘Maybe he thinks you’ve overstepped the boundaries of doctor and patient. Or perhaps he thinks you’ll talk me into quitting.’

‘You don’t think he’s a little... jealous?’

Will laughs. ‘I don’t think Jack feels that way about me.’

‘I don’t mean to imply he wants you sexually, although most possessive relationships have an underlying sexual element even if neither party ever acknowledge it. I meant rather that he considers you to be his.’

‘The fine china he brings out on special occasions.’

He shares in the memory and Will’s amusement. ‘Indeed. You’re breaking away, claiming an independence you didn’t have when he pulled you out of that classroom. Your relationship with me isn’t something he can control.’

‘You think he wants to control me?’

‘I think he wants to own you. You’re brilliant, Will, you shine like a light.’

Will’s cell rings and this time he answers it. Hannibal waits and listens to Will’s non-existent half of the conversation which ends in simply, ‘I’ll be there in an hour.’

‘Another family?’ So soon? Will nods.

‘It isn’t my work, Will.’ He isn’t sure if he’s imagining the suspicion in his eyes.

He’s imagining it, apparently, because Will frowns. ‘I know. Sorry, I gotta go.’

‘Call me if you’re going to be late tonight?’

Will stops beside him and sweeps a hand over his shoulders. ‘Of course.’

It’s a little after six when the phone rings to tell him Will’s going to be late. But it isn’t Will who calls him.

 

To be continued....


End file.
